


Unusual seduction technique

by Donya



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark, Fear, FrostIron - Freeform, Gen, Mind Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/Donya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki doesn't know how to let Tony know that he has a major crush on him. Tony doesn't even like him, after all, Loki killed his friend and ruined his city. But there's a way to manipulate Stark. Loki captures him and keeps him isolated, blindfolded and tied, only to release him and become his hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unusual seduction technique

**Author's Note:**

> Not for super sensitive people.

The first and most obvious explanation that came to Tony's mind was a kinky little game gone wrong. It wasn't unusual for him to let someone blindfold him or tie him up. A totally harmless kink, something to spice up his sex life. He was about to laugh nervously, then ask to be released, fairly calmly, it was just a game, when he realised he had no memory of inviting anyone to his bedroom in quite a long time.

He was sitting on cold floor, back against a rough wall, hands behind his back, tied to a metal ring hanging from the wall with some straps. Completely blindfolded. Ankles tied together. Not his bedroom, it smelled like a cellar, damp ground, rotten apples, Tony tried to gather as much information as he could, anything could be useful.

Captured, again. Tony felt the first jolt of panic filling him with ice cold fear. He started to squirm, hopelessly trying to free himself. Uncoordinated, frantic movements and ragged breathing. The straps cut into his skin but the stinging pain felt good, better than accepting his fate. There was a possibility that nobody knew he was gone. Nobody was going to save his ass, he had to fight for himself. Not the first time.

What struck him most was the absolute silence. No traffic sounds, no muffled voices, not even the wind blowing outside. Maybe it wasn't a cellar, maybe a mine, but what about that smell? Apples. The sickly sweet scent of ripe fruit, a very rich aroma, unforgettable. Reminding Tony of his childhood, he used to like apples. He remembered brownish cores scattered on the floor of his room.

He stopped when he felt a warm liquid trickle down his hands. Ok, ok, a short break. He revised what he knew already- an isolated place, under ground, his captor immobilised him and ensured that Tony would not see him or recognise him. Good. It could be all about a stupid ransom, Pepper would pay it and it would be over. Nothing personal, just money. Fine. The arc reactor was not removed, another good sign. Yeah. He was going to make it and return to his tower as if nothing happened.

It was not Afghanistan. Obviously. No dust or sweat, no scorching heat. His mind understood that but his body was going into shock, terrified of going through that shit again. That suffocating, blinding fear that didn't let him sleep, that was in the past. It wasn't Afghanistan.

He was all alone. No sound of someone else's breathing. Was he being watched? From afar? He had to stay calm. Calm. A brilliant idea. He didn't want to embarrass himself, it was way too early to start crying or begging. Calm.

God, he was so bored. The only entertainment was pulling at his restraints. He could bend his knees, a bit of painful stretching and he managed to kneel. Proud of himself, he sat on his thighs. Well. Not exactly his most glorious achievement. At least he was doing something. Passiveness was out of the question, he was too strong to give up.

'This is not Afghanistan,' he whispered, just to hear something beside his heartbeat. 'This is not Afghanistan,' he tried to convince that part of him that was already paralysed by fear. Whoever did this to him was either a clueless bastard, or an extremely cruel motherfucker who wanted to break him. Either way, it was not Afghanistan.

He lost track of time. Minutes or hours, certainly not days. Night? Day? He couldn't tell. Darkness, that's all he saw. He was getting cold, that helped him realise he was wearing a thin t-shirt and sweat pants. At least it wasn't a sexual assault. No trace of pain _there_. Good, good. He was doing just great.

He twitched violently when something cold and hard touched his lips. He jerked back, instinctively. Metal? It felt like metal. What, torture time? But the object was again at his lips and Stark recognised the shape. A spoon. A fucking spoon. The initial shock was over and only then did it cross his mind that he neither heard nor smelled the captor. He had to be right in front of Stark and yet- it couldn't be a ghost, right? Right? That would suck. Ghosts don't want money.

Reluctantly, he opened his mouth, letting the fucked-up stranger feed him. Soup. Not bad. Tony somehow expected a tasteless mash, but he was famous, he deserved something better than that. He ate quite a lot, gradually less caring about the very secretive psycho who caught him. Pleasantly warmed and full, he allowed himself to relax, just for a moment, just...

That was unbelievable, Stark thought hours later, not knowing how he could fall asleep in such conditions. His limbs numb and aching, he was getting very uncomfortable. Not to mention the pressing need to relive himself. The captor cared enough to feed him but not enough to help him save the last bits of his dignity. Stark resisted, as long as he could, fucking soup only made it worse.

Again, he said out loud that it was not Afghanistan, again fought against the tight bindings. Everything to keep his sanity. He guessed it was day two. Ok, ok, not the end of the world, it wasn't so bad, he was going to make it, without any anxiety attack. Yes, a good plan.

Despite the hunger, Stark refused to eat when the spoon nudged at his lips again. To avoid a shameful _little accident_ , he absolutely could not eat any more soup. It lasted a couple of minutes but the spoon finally disappeared.

It didn't help. Stark couldn't wait any longer. Horrible odour, he feared he would never feel clean again but that actually kept him busy- imagining a long, hot shower or a bubble bath, he would spend hours in his bathroom, washing away the awful memories.

He was fed the following day but it was not enough to sate him. He started thinking of what he was going to eat after that horror. Perhaps a generous amount of junk food, he would eat that lying in the bathtub, enjoying himself. Yeah. Perfect.

He ate, slept, thrashed around as much as he could, he would not stop, used his fingernails as blades to cut the straps. Talked aloud, repeated that he escaped once, he survived Afghanistan. Thought about that simple pleasure of wearing clean clothes. To break the unnatural silence, he started singing, every song he remembered, loudly, to raise his spirits. The madman who surely expected his tears had to be disappointed. Stark wasn't going to cry any time soon.

He assumed he was fed once a day, that was his way of counting days. Five, ten, fifteen. Just stay calm. SHIELD was searching for him, the Cap and maybe Thor. Lots of people. They would find him and see that there was no trace of tear drops on his dirty face and he would win.

It was almost bearable until one day he didn't believe that it wasn't Afghanistan. It was, right? He thought he felt that hot, dry air filling his lungs, drying his mouth. What if he was dreaming, the whole Avengers thing, was that only a dream? Did he die? Was that hell? Possible. Emptiness, regret, loneliness. He didn't want to die.

The next time the spoon appeared, he begged, promised everything, money, power, his suits, anything, just please, please, I can't take it any more. His speech was not well-received, the spoon was pushed between his lips, he choked on the soup, coughed, please, please.

He was hurting so much, his arms and legs were either numb or pulsated with pain, he barely remembered living without pain. Shivering from the cold, Stark corrected his vision of the bubble bath he was going to take- the water would be hot, super hot. First a shower to get rid of the dirt and smell, then a bath. Warm water easing the ache of his sore muscles.

The thin line between dream and reality got blurred, Stark was sure he heard voices, Pepper, Steve, Bruce, they cared about and came to save him. The relief he felt then was overwhelming and turned to a heartache when he understood it was not real. They weren't there, no one knew where he was. No one paid the ransom, if it was even demanded in the first place. All alone. Abandoned, forgotten. Dead. He was dying or already died, in Afghanistan. He didn't survive it.

One disappointment after another, painfully realistic dreams, Stark was in despair and couldn't even trust his mind. He was fooling himself. So when he thought he heard footsteps, he didn't move, didn't make a sound. Footsteps and fast breathing and whispers. It took him some time to understand what the words meant.

'Stark! Stark, where are you? Stark, is that you? Oh fuck!'

It wasn't really happening. The voice belonged to Loki, Stark wanted to laugh, amused by the idea of Loki playing a knight in shining armour but then someone touched him, his face, gently. Cold, slender fingers held his chin up and after a moment, removed the blindfold. Nothing changed, everything was still black. Loki, or whoever it was, cut the straps and Stark gasped when his arms were free at last. His vision cleared enough to notice a pale oval in front of him. Loki? Of all the people, Loki?

'Please, please,' Stark breathed out, not caring about losing his face. Loki already had to deal with the stench and didn't complain. He was holding a knife or a dagger and used it to release Stark's ankles, then helped him stand up.

'Shh, be quiet. We don't have much time,' Loki warned him and Stark leant against him, so, so grateful. That little shit found him and save his life. Tony thanked him repeatedly when Loki dragged him away from that scary place. So there was something good about him. Stark was willing to admit that he was wrong about Loki.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 'Land of the living' by Nicci French.


End file.
